


baby, i'm the whole damn meal

by truthbealiar



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, F/M, M/M, cosplayer!Sansa, movie buff!Jon, youtuber!au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2019-07-03
Packaged: 2020-05-30 22:44:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19412929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/truthbealiar/pseuds/truthbealiar
Summary: Jon had never really given much thought to cosplayers before. There were characters he loved enough to rant about for hours on the internet, sure, but he had never felt the inclination to dress as one before.Now he was starting to seriously rethink that policy.- or -It starts the way any good romance should. At Comic Con.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> for [@stark](http://stark.tumblr.com/) the first winner of my birthday giveaway! i hope you enjoy it, because i've had a blast writing it! 
> 
> this is a three part fic, with parts two and three coming later this week! you can find an edit for the fic [here](https://joygreys.tumblr.com/post/185943677179/baby-im-the-whole-damn-meal-13)!
> 
> fic title - lizzo

Sansa's smile was bright and cheerful as she stared into the camera, counting to five in her head, before flicking her blue eyes upward, to meet the gaze of her camerawoman, pink lips relaxing into a smile that was a little softer, but still as sincere. "Was that good?" Sansa asked, the question falling off her tongue naturally, though the buzz of anxiety that had once clouded her head entirely, was a mere hum in the back of her mind. She had felt good about that take, and the wide grin Brienne shot her seemed to confirm as much.

"That was great Sansa."

She let out a tiny sigh of relief, and bit her lip. Sansa's confidence had grown over the years, but she remained a perfectionist at heart, and often needed others to help force her to take a step back. It had taken Robb and Theon quite literally dragging her to the optometrist, who had scolded Sansa thoroughly for the endless hours she spent in front of a computer screen, before she had been willing to expand her staff a bit, hiring someone to film and edit her videos. It had been difficult to relinquish control, but a necessary step. One Sansa certainly didn't regret now.

Stretching her arms over her head, Sansa yawned, and began collecting the scraps of fabric and various tools on her tabletop. Brienne expertly shut the camera off, and moved from behind the tripod to assist her. Sansa prided herself on a clean workspace - and she was willing to admit that she catered to the aesthetic viewers seemed to prefer, white minimalism with clean, sharp lines - but the nature of her DIY videos were messy, and Sansa hated leaving the cleanup until the next day.

Reaching for her pastel pink sewing kit, Sansa surveyed the small studio with a smile. It had been five years since she had first uploaded a video onto her brand new channel. Sansa had never intended to use YouTube as anything other than a platform to giggle at the silly cat videos her sister would text her, but she had received enough questions on her cosplay pictures she posted on DeviantArt, to encourage her to create a quick tutorial on styling wigs. That first video, still up on Sansa's channel, had been less than two minutes long, and contained horribly bright text, and a terrible voiceover that was barely audible over the copyright free music Sansa had selected.

Now, Sansa's videos tended to be close to a half hour in length, and meticulously edited. Sansa still wasn't quite sure how she had managed to turn her cosplaying hobby into an actual career, but she wasn't complaining. She had been working in the I.T. department of Moon Doors straight out of college, and had been bored out of her mind. Sansa had always thought the old joke about 'turning your computer off' had been simply an easy way to garner likes on various social media platforms. But then Sansa had experienced the actual hell that was telling a man over the age of forty-five that his computer was _not_ broken, he had simply not moved the mouse, and so it had gone into screensaver mode.

Her only saving grace had been returning to her shoebox apartment each night, dragging out the Brother sewing machine that she had spent the entirety of her first paycheck on. It took up far too much space - that she didn't necessarily have - but Sansa had decided that between a bed and a sewing machine, she would rather the latter. Each night she had meticulously worked on detailed costumes, never resting until it was up to Sansa's perfectionist standards.

Cosplaying had been something Sansa had fallen into rather naturally. The seed had been planted in Sansa at a young age; her mother's family owned a chain of medieval themed restaurants, in which patrons spent an inordinate amount of money to consume a historically accurate feast, while watching 'knights' joust. All of Hoster Tully's children had worked at the Trident, but Catelyn had been working when Ned Stark had been sent to seek employment, a punishment for some asinine scheme Robert Baratheon had dragged him into. He had met Catelyn Tully, and the rest, as they said, was history.

(That was decidedly _not_ all there was to the story, Sansa had heard, but it was impossible to pry anything out of her parents, who remained tight-lipped on whatever salacious love square had emerged, involving her deceased uncle she had never met, and the creepy uncle she _wished_ she had never met.)

Every year for their anniversary, Ned and Catelyn had insisted on taking the entire family to the Trident to celebrate. Eventually all of the Stark children had gone through the phases of loving, hating, and eventually groaning with fondness. All except for Sansa. She had always loved everything about it, watching the knights and maidens, dressing up and feeling a bit like someone else for a night. It had been Jory Cassel, the son of one of her father's partners, who had introduced Sansa to cosplaying. Jory had been involved in a LARP group, but he attended enough conventions and various get togethers to know a few cosplayers. The moment he had introduced Sansa to the hobby, she had been immediately hooked.

Sansa's family had been supportive, with varying levels of skepticism. Catelyn had been understandably worried, but she channeled her concern into helping Sansa as much as possible, and attending the small conventions with her. Sansa had certainly entered into the world with rosy colored glasses, and had been mortified the first time a gaunt-faced man had leered down at her handmade, modestly cut gown, sneering that Queen Alysanne was always depicted in dresses far more titilating than the one Sansa had chosen to wear. Catelyn had slapped the man, before forcibly dragging him to the security booth, where he had been banned from the convention. She had spent the entire drive back to Winterfell, explaining to Sansa in very clear terms, how the fault had laid solely with the lecher, never once making Sansa feel as if she had done something wrong. Sansa had been so grateful for her mother's unwavering support, especially in those early years.

Robb hadn't really understood Sansa's interest, but those days he hadn't been interested in anything other than the gym and his car. But he was nothing if not a loving and supportive brother, and he had taken Sansa to a few conventions, before she got her own driver's license. Robb had even conceded to dressing up a few times himself, keeping his ordinary jovial attitude about it all.

Surprisingly enough, it had been Arya who had been most interested in Sansa's burgeoning new hobby. The two sisters, close in age, had never really gotten along. Most family squabbles had Arya and Sansa at the heart of it, and they had often been at each others' throats. They were as different as the sun and the moon, according to Sansa's father. The differences between the two had mostly lead to infighting, until the night Arya poked her head into Sansa's room to find her sister on the verge of tears, trying to fashion a believable looking sword out of the scant materials she had at her disposal. Arya had always been the sister more interested in the swords and weapons used at the Trident, while Sansa had been captivated by the beautiful dresses and the fashion of the people in attendance, dressed in their medieval garb. Sansa had seen the surprise in her sister's eyes when she realized that Sansa had intended to cosplay as Visenya, the warrior queen. Sansa was certain that surprise had been reflected in her own eyes when Arya had actually offered to _help_.

Now in her Winterfell apartment, far bigger than the tiny closet she had lived in during her time in the Vale, Sansa's lips twitched into a smile. Arya had been the first person she hired on as an official staff member when she received her first channel sponsorship, and realized operating as a one-woman show wasn't quite feasible. Arya had dragged along her friend Gendry, a literal blacksmith, and Sansa's channel had truly taken off.

"Alright, I think that's everything," Brienne told Sansa kindly, arching an eyebrow. "I'm going to head out, and you should head to bed. You have an early morning tomorrow. That means no editing!"

Sansa gave her videographer a guilty smile. King's Landing Comic Con was just around the corner, and rather than deal with the airports - Sansa knew from experience that KLX was the worst airport in all of Westeros - they had decided to take a road trip, forcing a reluctant Gendry to tag along. Sansa was looking forward to the road trip, but she knew as well as Brienne, that if they didn't want to be cutting it too close, the three of them would have to get on the King's Road early in the morning, to account for Arya's ridiculously tiny bladder that would demand a stop every hour or so.

"On my honor, I swear I won't do any editing tonight!" Sansa promised, holding up her hand. Brienne fixed her with a measured gaze that seemed to peer straight through Sansa's soul, but she finally nodded, letting out a sigh and shaking her head.

"Well, I hope you have a fantastic trip. Pod and I will edit what you have, and we'll make sure to keep you updated. Be sure to send us any footage from Comic Con that you want featured on your main channel," Brienne said kindly, and Sansa nodded. She had already planned to put several vlogs on her secondary channel, far less professional than the main one she used to post her how-to videos, but it would certainly be nice to include some scenes from the floor on her main channel as well. Sansa was quite excited about the costume she had prepared for the event.

Stifling a yawn, Sansa bolted the door, and glanced longingly at her sketchbook. She had promised not to do any editing, but she had said nothing about sketching. However, she _would_ need her energy if she was expected to put up with Gendry and Arya for two days in a car, and sleep _was_ calling to her. Fighting back another yawn, Sansa let that make the decision for her, and began preparing for bed, holding back a smile of excitement the whole time. 

++++++++++++++++

 **Marillion**  
@silvertonguedsinger

@sassystark Have you ever considered dressing as Queen Natalie? Much lower necklines ;)

 **Arya "YOU'RE ON MY LIST" Stark** _retweeted **  
**_ @noone

@silvertonguedsinger have u ever considered not being a creep on the internet?

++++++++++++++++

Of all the ways Jon had contemplated dying - of which there were many, thanks to a particularly nihilistic phase he had undergone, shortly after viewing Requiem for a Dream the first time - none of them had involved airplanes. It wasn't a supreme confidence in the ability of Westerosi pilots that had ruled out an air-related death in Jon's mind, simply the fact that he had never actually been on a plane before. Jon didn't mind traveling, but he preferred cars and trains. He so rarely traveled outside the North, that planes were never really necessary. He would have probably taken a plane for this trip, if it wasn't for the current company. Which was the reason why Jon was thinking he might actually die on an airplane after all. Gilly had that look in her eye, and it was never a good thing.

Although Jon and Sam had decided to attend this year's King's Landing Comic Con almost an entire year ago, Gilly and Little Sam had been a recent addition to the group. Gilly's sister had recently moved to King's Landing, and Gilly had wanted the chance to see her, as well as see a bit of the south with her son. Jon and Sam had been more than pleased to have them along, but had quickly realized that the three day road trip from Castle Black to King's Landing would not be quite the same adventure when a four-year-old was added to the mix. So they had all decided to fly down together.

The airline they had chosen - based solely on safety features and decent fares - had two aisles, each seating only two chairs. It had seemed easy enough - Jon would sit beside Sam, and Gilly would take Little Sam. However, all of a sudden the boy was _demanding_ to sit beside his godfather, much to the chagrin of the people behind him, impatiently waiting to move further down the plane to find their seats. Jon shot them an apologetic glance, before meeting Gilly's heated glare.

"Of course you can sit with me, buddy," Jon assured his godson with a smile, trying to give Gilly a reassuring glance. "And your mom and dad will be right behind you the whole time." Like Jon, Little Sam had never been on an airplane either, and his parents were understandably worried about how he would handle the whole thing. "I'll even let you pick the movie."

"Don't you dare start picking apart any of his movies, Jon Snow," Gilly instructed him firmly, and Jon rolled his eyes.

"I am capable of watching a film for enjoyment, and not criticism!" Jon protested.

"No you're really not, mate," Sam said unhelpfully.

Jon let out a sigh. While Jon _could_ watch a movie without putting on his film critic goggles - no matter what Sam said - the fact was, he rarely did. It had been like that since he was young, for practically as long as Jon could remember really. Lyanna Snow had been a single mother, and she had worked long hours as a guard at the Wall, a tireless and thankless job. Her form of relaxing had always involved a steaming mug of hot chocolate, a dozen different films, and Jon curled up at her side on the lumpy tartan couch that had been in their small home. She would then proceed to mercilessly tear each film apart for the duration of their viewing marathon, and Jon had loved every moment of it.

His mother had wanted to be a filmmaker, she once confided in Jon. She would have been good at it too. She had received a scholarship to White Harbour and everything, when she fell pregnant with Jon, and decided to stay in Castle Black. But she never gave up her love of film. She even had her own blog, and became popular in some amateur film critic circles. After her death, Jon hadn't been able to revisit it until years later, when he was already well underway with his own studies at White Harbour, chasing the dream his mother had never been able to follow.

It had been his foster sister who had encouraged Jon to start posting on his mother's old blog, suggesting it as a way for Jon to feel close to her again. Jon had refused for several months, until the release of yet another remake of Prince of Dragonflies had come out. Jon had spent the entire two and a half hours of the film imagining his mother beside him, hearing her voice as clearly as he had when he was nine years old, lampooning the film with her dry wit that Jon had missed so dearly. His review on the film was half written before he even paused and realized what he was doing.

It hadn't _naturally_ lead to creating a YouTube channel, or at least, it shouldn't have. But then Jon's friend Edd had uploaded one of Jon's drunken rants on that year's list of Oscar contenders, and it had been a surprising hit. Enough of a hit that Lyanna's blog that Jon had been updating, actually crashed from the amount of traffic. Soon enough, Jon was filming videos, in addition to posting film reviews on the blog. He found that he actually liked talking to the camera, and it gave him an opportunity to delve deeper into films and tropes. It had been nothing fancy in the beginning, just Jon, sitting on his mum's old tartan couch, talking to the small Flip Video camera he had bought with his pizza delivery money. Jon had insisted on keeping the tartan couch, even though he and his channel had significantly upgraded.

Sam was a regular feature, being almost as much of a cinephile as Jon, though he also branched off and liked to discuss tropes in literature and video games. Val even sometimes showed up on the channel, though she preferred to focus on the podcast she co-hosted with Jon. Her dry, quick notes version of the tropes that Jon often rambled about for hours, was a particular hit among the viewers.

Jon had been...startled, simply put, at how receptive people had been. He had never imagined him making a career off of YouTube, but he was incredibly grateful for it. He got to sit on his mum's old couch, and talk about movies and television shows - the very hobby that he had loved when Lyanna was alive. He got to work with his foster sister and his best friend, and now he got to attend Comic Con as an actual speaker - though Jon reckoned the filmmakers of the latest Fire and Blood installment were just hoping he would actually give their film a good review.

Shaking himself out of his reverie, Jon focused his attention on Little Sam, who was looking at him expectantly.

"What do you want to watch, buddy?" Jon asked. He turned in his seat and stuck his tongue out at Sam and Gilly, ignoring the way they rolled their eyes in response.

"Mickey and the Three Musketeers!" Sam shouted out eagerly, and Jon winced, holding his hand up in apology to the people who had turned to huff and glare at them. He sighed, and turned back to his godson.

"Are you _sure_ there's nothing else you'd rather watch?" Jon offered, praying that the boy's mind would prove to be fickle. The last time Jon had babysat Sam, he had been forced to watch the ridiculous reinterpretation of the Dumas classic half a dozen times. He had truly hoped he would never have to see it again.

"No! Mickey!"

Jon sighed again, refusing to turn in his seat. He didn't want to see the knowing smirks the Tarlys were surely wearing.

"Alright Sam. Mickey it is."

++++++++++++++++

 **Karl Tanner**  
@traitortanner

Hey @freefolk, are we going to get a night's watch podcast from Comic Con?

 **Jon Snow** _retweeted_  
@freefolk

Val won't be coming to Comic Con (she says she's not that nerdy) but a new podcast will be up soon!

++++++++++++++++

  
Comic Con was like nothing Jon had ever expected. Which was sort of ridiculous, because Jon _knew_ what Comic Con was like, and had even printed off three separate helpful guides in order to prepare for the event, but it was somehow louder and bigger and more colorful than Jon had ever imagined. He felt his heart pounding in his chest, and his pulse racing underneath his skin. His hands were clenched at his sides, and he took in the room with wide eyes.

"Do you need to take a moment for a breather?" Sam asked, his voice pitched low, though Jon doubted anyone would be able to hear him over the noise. Jon took a breath, and glanced back at his best friend, suddenly struck by how grateful he was for Sam.

Jon could grow overwhelmed at times. His life at Castle Black had been very quiet. It was a city, but still one of the smaller cities in the North, and Jon's neighborhood had often felt tiny. Many of the other parents hadn't wanted their children playing with Jon, turning up their noses at Lyanna. It had been just as well with Jon, who had been far more interested in watching films with his mum anyways. But then when she had passed, and Jon had been taken in by Jeor, he had receded further into himself. He was a restrained man - sullen, Val would say - and sometimes crowds like this could quickly unnerve him.

He exhaled through his nose, and focused his gaze on Sam, forcing a smile on his face. Comic Con was big and loud, and he wished he had brought Ghost, even though he knew his dog was happier staying with Val for the week, and Jon truly did want to be here.

"No, I'm good," Jon said. Sam looked unconvinced, and Jon shook his head. "Really, I'm good, I swear. It's just louder than I expected."

Sam chuckled. "Yeah. It's way more colorful too. The pictures online really don't do it any justice."

Jon shook his head. Nothing online had prepared him for this. The nervousness was creeping up again, but Jon reminded himself that he was only here to participate in one panel. He didn't have to worry about that until tomorrow. For now, he and Sam were just wandering the floor, taking in the sights.

"Hold on, is that Bran Stark? ThreeEyedRaven?" Jon turned to see where Sam was pointing. It was nearly impossible to see exactly who he was indicating, given how crowded the Exhibition floor was, but he trusted Sam's sight, so Jon just shrugged his shoulders.

"I dunno, why don't we go see?" He offered. He was familiar with the name, and had even seen a couple of Bran Stark's videos. The university student turned millionaire had some pretty incredible theories and insights - and his dry sense of humor was entertaining as well. But he was mostly known as a gamer, and Jon wasn't terribly interested in video games, though Sam had pulled him into a few, and every few months Val would insist on decimating him in Mario Kart "for fun", as she put it. Sam was an avid follower of Bran's though, and usually would show Jon any new theory videos. Jon was rather interested in speaking to the other YouTuber himself, wanting to question how Bran went about his research. His videos were easily the most thorough on the site, and Jon included himself in that category, no matter how much pride he put into his own research.

As they drew closer, Jon quickly realized two things. The figure Sam had been gesturing to was indeed Bran Stark, and he wasn't alone. Next to Bran, dressed in full medieval regalia - from the Winter Queen era, if Jon wasn't mistaken - was easily the most stunning woman he had ever set his eyes on. His throat instantly felt dry, and Jon's hand instinctively flew up to scratch at his beard to cover the fact that he was making sure his jaw hadn't physically dropped.

"Bran, hi! I don't know if you remember me, but I'm Samwell Tarly. We met at E3 last year!" Sam's voice caught Bran's attention, as well as the woman beside him, who was now looking at Jon. Gods, her eyes were so blue Jon felt a bit like he was drowning. Her eyes seemed to widen when she caught sight of the pair of them, but her mouth quirked into a smile, and Jon felt his own lips tugging up in response.

"Of course I remember you, Sam." Bran's voice was calm and a bit monotone, but there seemed to be some genuine warmth. He was wearing a small smile of his own, and he gestured up at the woman beside him. "This is my sister, Sansa. Sansa, this is Sam. He has a couple of play-by-plays, and he's on Free Folk a lot." Jon was startled to hear Bran mention his own channel, and saw Bran's eyes suddenly focused on him. "I've sent you a couple of his videos, remember?"

Sansa's eyes lit up, and Jon's gaze returned to her.

"I remember! I watched your deep dive on the Skagos plotline of The Grand Northern Conspiracy," Sansa said politely in that voice that Jon had grown familiar with since launching his channel, and he felt his smile widen into something playful.

"I take it you don't agree with me?"

Sansa returned the smile with one of her own. "Not in the slightest, though I thought you made some excellent points."

Jon shrugged, accepting the difference of opinion easily enough. "I admitted it then, and I'll admit it now, I'm not terribly familiar with the show. It's been on my list for a while though, and I did watch the first two seasons. I take it you're a fan, Queen Sophie?" It had taken Jon a moment, but he recognized the direwolf symbol expertly embroidered along the high neckline of Sansa's blue gown.

She beamed happily at him. "I am. I've been cosplaying for years, but Sophie is one of my favorite characters."

"You just hate dealing with wigs, and like that she's a redhead too," Bran deadpanned, and Sansa rolled her eyes. Jon's however, widened in surprise. He had assumed that the red braids twisting at the back of Sansa's neck to form one long braid draped over her shoulder, had just been a wig. An expertly crafted wig, but from some of the cosplayers at Comic Con, Jon would have expected no less. However, it turned out that Sansa Stark was indeed a redhead herself.

_Fuck, Tormund would never let him live it down._

"I did like Sophie, from what I'd watched," Jon offered, and Sansa beamed at him again. "She wasn't my favorite character, but I know there's a lot more to her storyline that I just haven't seen yet. I don't recognize the dress though, is that from one of the later seasons?" Jon was curious about Sansa's choice in attire. Even though he wasn't following the show fanatically, as he had his hands full with the clusterfuck that was Fire and Blood, he had seen a couple of recognizable promotional images. He could even see a few other Queen Sophies wandering around the event wearing the gowns Jon recalled seeing.

"You're the first person who's asked about that," Sansa said with a wide grin. "Most people have guessed it's because this dress has the direwolf sigil on it."

"But?" Jon prompted her with interest.

"This was the dress that Sophie wore after she and Christopher had resolved to take back the North. They had just been reunited, and they received word that the Manderlys were still loyal to their family. It was the episode where Sophie and Christopher really stopped being pawns in the conspiracy, and players in their own right."

"Also the level of eye-fucking in that episode is insane." Sansa rolled her eyes at the interjection from her brother, who just smirked. Funny as it was, Jon almost wished that Bran had let her continue. Sansa's eyes had been bright and excited, and it was clear she cared a lot about the topic she was discussing. Jon imagined he looked somewhat similar, whenever he went off on a character or show he liked - and even some he didn't. It was nice seeing that same fervor in someone else - especially someone as beautiful as Sansa.

"So did you make the costume yourself?" Jon asked, genuinely curious. Cosplaying was an art form that Jon had a lot of respect for, but had never really participated in himself. Here at Comic Con though, it was hard not to notice the sheer level of dedication that went into all of the costumes.

"I make all of my costumes," Sansa explained, tucking a flyaway strand of red hair behind her ear. "I've been doing it for years. I actually have a channel myself, where I post how-to videos."

Before Jon could comment, Sam's eyes widened, and he threw up his hands in excitement. "I knew I had recognized you from somewhere! I saw your video on weapons of Robert's Rebellion! That was absolutely brilliant, do you do a lot of welding?"

Sansa let out a peal of laughter. "Oh yeah. I cosplay as several different characters, but almost all of them are historical. My family consists of a bunch of history nerds." Sansa reached out and pinched at Bran's cheek, who just rolled his eyes. "When I moved back to Winterfell and decided to make this my full-time job, my sister actually introduced me to a blacksmith who could help me with making accurate weapons. I can sew like nobody's business, but actual metalworking is where I'm happy to just assist an expert."

Jon, while not an expert on weapons, certainly had an appreciation for them himself, especially weapons that were made with historical accuracy in mind. He made a mental note to check out the video Sam had referenced as soon as they returned to their hotel room - along with the rest of Sansa's videos as well.

Right now though, Jon couldn't really think about going back to the hotel room, because he was staring directly into Sansa's blue eyes, and the effect was a little bit like staring directly at the sun, and yet Jon couldn't find it in him to turn completely away.

"Speaking of weapons," Bran drawled, and it was enough to pull everyone's eyes toward him. Perhaps it was just Jon's imagination, but his smirk seemed the slightest bit _knowing_ , and Jon's fought back a flush. Sansa's own cheeks seemed tinged a little bit pink, but Jon blamed the hot overhead lights, and the packed room more than anything. Besides, it was hot in King's Landing, and Sansa had mentioned she was from the North, hadn't she? Jon was certainly _not_ trying to calculate the distance from Castle Black to Winterfell in his mind. "Arya and Gendry left about fifteen minutes ago to check out one of the booths selling replica greatswords, so we have five minutes before we reach DEFCON 1."

Sansa rolled her eyes, and looked at Jon and Sam. "My sister," she explained helpfully, "And the blacksmith who works with me. Complete disasters, the both of them. Either they're going to actually fight with those swords in the middle of the floor, or they're going to take it upon themselves to critique everything until they're kicked out."

Jon chuckled. He was more than a little familiar with _that_.

"Are they ever on either of your channels?" Sam asked politely. "Maybe I'd recognize them."

Jon watched as the Stark siblings exchanged a smirk.

"Arya and Sansa come onto my channel sometimes to play games," Bran said. "Those videos are pretty popular actually. I had Arya's rant on Fortnite set to my ringtone for a month."

"But even if you haven't seen those," Sansa interjected, "You've definitely seen Arya before." Both she and Bran were full on smirking by now, and Jon couldn't help but shift his weight from foot to foot a bit nervously. He had a feeling that smile on Sansa Stark spelled out trouble for him.

"Did you ever see that viral image of the girl who got pulled over on her way home from theater practice? With her whole face done up to look like Ser Gregor Clegane?"

There was a pause, and suddenly Jon's mouth dropped open, right alongside Sam's.

"No fucking _way_."

Sansa's cackle of laughter was easily the nicest sound Jon had heard all day, and her brother's face was a mask of unadulterated glee.

"She never forgave Theon for calling the cops on her," Bran said with mock pity. Sansa snorted.

"Oh please. She never forgave Theon for having more followers than her."

"He's an attractive white boy who regularly posts videos of him doing shirtless archery or working out with Robb," Bran deadpanned, and Sansa rolled her eyes. "But her spider senses are probably tingling from us mentioning Gregor-gate, so we should go find her."

Sansa nodded, and reached for the handles of Bran's wheelchair, glancing at Jon and Sam.

"You're welcome to come along if you'd like," she offered, her voice suddenly sounding a bit shy. "Unless you have other things you were wanting to see. I think you and Arya might get on though. She's a big fan of your podcast."

Jon had been about to agree anyways. He stopped himself short of saying something ridiculous such as - "I'll go with you anywhere," or something equally as inappropriate - but Sansa's words gave him pause, and suddenly his lips were pulling into a smirk of his own.

"Podcast, aye? I don't think anyone's mentioned that yet." In fact, Jon knew that no one _had_. He _also_ knew that the podcast was a much smaller, much more niche project of his, that didn't have nearly the same mainstream appeal as his main channel - not that it was all that mainstream anyways. The sudden flush that colored Sansa's cheeks - and Jon didn't think it had anything to do with the temperature of the room - told him exactly what he wanted to know. "Well then I'd love to meet her. Lead the way, m'lady."

++++++++++++++++

 **Fire & Blood Writer's Room**  
@fireandbloodwr

Make sure to check out the Fire & Blood panel tomorrow, featuring the actors, writers, and critics of the show!

 **Pyp**  
@foolofatook

brave of the writers to show up in the same room as @freefolk

++++++++++++++++


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If all trouble was as lovely as Sansa Stark, Jon wouldn't be half so annoyed that he always wound up with so much of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for your lovely response! i hope you enjoy the next installment of this fic!

Arya nudged her side again, and Sansa glared down at her younger sister. "Stop it!" she hissed, trying not to draw attention to the pair of them. She was only half successful, as Jon turned partially, still absorbed in conversation with Sam and Bran, but gave her the sort of smile that made her knees go a little bit weak. Thankfully she had the floor length gown to cover it. 

Her sister, never one to do as she was told, just smirked at Sansa and made kissy faces. "Oh no. There's no way I'm letting this one go. You are so transparent Sansa Stark." 

Sansa flushed, having half a mind to snap that she was no more transparent with Jon than Arya had been with Gendry. But pointing such a thing out would draw the comparison that Sansa _really_ didn't want her sister dwelling on. Besides, it wasn't as if Arya or Gendry had any shame whatsoever. They would probably just shrug the whole thing off, and then fix their wicked grins on Sansa, refusing to let her wriggle her way out of the teasing. Which was truly unfair, since she had only teased them _lightly_ when they finally bothered to tell everyone what had been obvious for ages. 

She hadn't thought she was _that_ transparent, but Jon had already called her out on her little slip, much to Sansa's mortification. She hadn't lied about how she recognized Jon; Bran really had sent her his video on The Grand Northern Conspiracy. But it had been part of a playlist, and Sansa had been so simultaneously riled and intrigued by Jon's intelligent - if not woefully misinterpreted - breakdown of the Skagos plot, that Sansa had just let the videos loop. Jon was charismatic on camera, and quite passionate, and clearly intelligent, and ... oh alright, _completely_ attractive. Sansa had wound up subscribing to his channel with her secondary account, and regularly watched Jon's videos and podcasts - often times before she went to see a movie or started a new show herself. So technically, she hadn't lied when she told Jon she had seen a video of his. She had just played it cool, and not revealed the exact number of videos she _had_ seen. It was quite a lot, and Sansa didn't want to scare him off.

Arya seemed more likely to do that though, the way she kept nudging Sansa in a way that was both painful, and painfully obvious, smirking like a madwoman around the comically sized churro. Gendry, as per the usual, was ignoring the antics of the woman he chose to spend his leisure time with. (They were still resisting labels, which forced Sansa to be _creative_.) Sansa had half a mind to do something drastic, like bring up the Frey incident - a disastrous affair that Robb had dramatically dubbed, The Red Wedding - when Jon proved himself something of a hero, and directed his attention to Arya, forcing her to stop _shoving_ Sansa, at least for a moment. 

"So are you a cosplayer too?" He asked with genuine interest, and Sansa smiled. 

Arya's response was something far less ladylike, though her mouth twisted into something between a smile and a smirk. "Definitely not. That's all Sansa. I only dress up on special occasions." Special occasions clearly didn't include Comic Con though, because Arya had donned her jeans and Faceless Men t-shirt instead of any of the costumes Sansa had tried to wheedle her into. "I'm a makeup artist though. Special effects are my specialty, but I help out Sansa with her channel."

Jon smiled, and Sansa couldn't help but notice the way his eyes crinkled when he did it. "That's pretty cool. I wouldn't have pegged you as a makeup artist, honestly." He shoved his hands deep into his pockets, making his shoulders shrink a little, and Sansa wondered if it was his way of guarding himself. It turned out to be unnecessary though, because Arya just shrugged her shoulder and used her half-eaten churro to push a strand of hair out of her eye, leaving cinnamon and sugar clinging to her forehead.

"Most people don't, honestly. My family likes to subvert expectations. I blame my dad, he did it first by majoring in theater."

He did a double take at that, and the Stark sisters wore wide, matching grins. Jon was Northern - even if Sansa hadn't already known that from his videos, she would have been able to tell easily from his rough accent, thicker than her own. She assumed he was from somewhere farther North - Last Hearth, or Eastwatch, or maybe even Hardhome. Even if he wasn't intimately familiar with the Stark clan, he had probably figured out by now that their father was Ned Stark, former Warden of the North. 

"Really?" Jon asked, surprise evident in his voice. "I honestly never would have pegged it. I thought he was a lawyer or something."

"Oh he is," Sansa responded with a grin. "He just didn't want to do pre-law. He can't stand politicians." Jon chuckled, and Sansa had the sneaking suspicion that Jon would get along quite well with her father. Not that she ever expected the two of them to meet or anything. It was simply an errant thought, one she wouldn't pay any mind to, no matter how much Arya smirked at her knowingly.

Jon glanced between the Stark siblings, before letting his gaze rest on Sansa. "So do all of your siblings have YouTube channels?" 

Sansa shrugged. "Kind of. I don't think Rickon has one, but he has a couple of Vines, and they're usually put into compilations. He's definitely not trying to make a career out of it though." Mostly because Catelyn Stark would murder him if he did. His idiotic antics were entertaining for six second loops, but Dorne would freeze over before Catelyn let him try to build an empire out of it. "Robb has some training videos up, but he's not really a YouTuber. He's an athletic director, and he's actually pretty motivational, so he was convinced to put up some of his videos. He has a lot of followers, but that has more to do with his penchant for removing his shirt, than anything."

Arya snickered. "That and his thing with Theon."

Sansa's smile widened. "Yeah, he and his boyfriend have the same job for rival schools. They're ridiculously competitive, and trash talk each other all the time, and it makes its way into a couple of videos. It's pretty funny, especially when one second they're fighting about which archery team is better, the next they're arguing about what to order on their pizza, and then they're suddenly cuddling with the dog on the couch." Sansa's cheeks pinked up as she realized she had spent nearly five minutes rambling about her family. "Sorry, I'm probably boring you."

Jon truly was some rare breed of gentleman, because he actually looked enthralled by the whole thing. He shook his head, and Sansa's eyes followed the easy bounce of his curls. She really, _really_ wanted to run her hand through them, but such a thing would be completely inappropriate.

"No, it's fine, I asked! And I like hearing about your family. It's kind of crazy to me. I didn't have siblings growing up. Not until my foster sister, Val."

"She's the one who's on the podcast with you, right?" Arya asked eagerly. "She's hilarious. Tell her I love her imitations of you, they're hilarious."

Jon chuckled, but rolled his eyes. "Great. I'm definitely _not_ going to tell her that, but I have a feeling she would like you." His eyes drifted over to Sansa. "She'd _definitely_ like you." 

Sansa chewed on her lower lip nervously. What did that _mean_? Was it a good thing, or a bad thing? Sansa suddenly wished Myranda was here with her, instead of Arya. Much as Sansa loved her sister, she was utterly unhelpful, and was just delighting in Sansa's misery. But alas, there had been a Renaissance festival that Myranda had _needed_ to attend, and so Sansa was left alone to Comic Con, with thousands of other attendees, and one Jon Snow from Free Folk. Who apparently had a foster sister who would definitely like Sansa.

That had to be a good thing, right?

"What brings you to Comic Con, Jon?" Sansa found herself asking, desperate to keep the conversation going, and not let it lull into the awkward silence she dreaded. It seemed to be the right question to ask, because another one of Jon's delightful grins spread across his face, this time with something of a wicked glint in his eye as well.

"Oh I was invited," he explained, reminding Sansa all too much of when Robb had perched at the top of the staircase in their childhood home, and dumped a pile of snow right on Sansa's meticulously arranged hair. She had been nine years old at the time, and never forgave him for it. "Some representatives from Fire & Blood asked me to be one of the speakers at their panel. They've got a mixture of actors, writers and viewers I guess."

Sansa's eyes widened in surprise. "Fire & Blood? Don't you rail on that show constantly?" She froze, cursing herself for a _second_ slip - one which had Arya practically _crowing_ in delight - but thankfully Jon seemed to miss it, and Sansa remembered that on the playlist Bran had sent her, of the fifty collected Free Folk videos, thirty-nine of them had been about Fire & Blood. Sansa could probably get away with Jon's _well-documented_ dislike for the show being something of common knowledge.

"It's not that I don't _like_ the show," Jon protested, and Sansa raised an eyebrow. "I'm just critical of the Targaryen propaganda machine behind it all. I think they had some great characters and great arcs, but things were just dropped. It was way better in the early seasons, before they started throwing in things for shock value, and to get the viewership up. They seem to flip flop from episode to episode on whether the characters are villains or heroes, and not in a good way. It's giving people whiplash, honestly. I - now I'm the one rambling here," Jon cut himself off sheepishly, and rubbed at the back of his neck. Sansa found the action so endearing, she had to clench her fingers together tightly, to keep from reaching out instinctively and giving into the desire to run her hands through Jon's dark curls.

"That sounds about right, from what I've seen of it," Sansa offered. "Though I'll admit, I don't really follow the show. I'm not a fan of how the North is caricatured." She pulled a face. Sansa's time attending university in King's Landing had certainly opened her eyes to how the North was perceived, and often depicted in media. 

Jon nodded vigorously. “Oh yeah, I’ve torn them to shreds on that, numerous times. I dunno though, I figure I’m in it for the long haul. Thank god there’s only one season left.” Sansa chuckled, and his smile widened. “If you’re a Northern Conspiracy fan though, I take it you’re gunning for a big Emmy’s sweep?”

It was Sansa’s turn to chuckle, and she tucked a stray strand of red hair behind her ear. “Don’t tell anyone, or I might get kicked off the Queen Sophie Defense Squad,” she joked, “But I don’t really think Northern Conspiracy  _ or  _ Fire & Blood will do all that well this year.”

Jon raised his eyebrows. “ _ Really _ ? And what show does Sansa Stark peg as the frontrunner then?”

“Either Gray Sails, or The Dornishman’s Wife. You’ve got a badass lesbian pirate on one hand, and Oberyn Martell on the other.” Sansa found that she couldn’t quite articulate all the thoughts she had on the matter, as an avid consumer of period media, since she was finding it a bit difficult to focus. That wasn’t entirely unexpected, given the way Jon was smiling at her, with his eyes actually  _ sparkling _ , like he was some kind of prince charming - the sort Sansa never would have imagined for herself as a child.

Surely she wasn’t getting this worked up over a discussion of television?

Jon leaned closer, so that he was suddenly occupying her space, and suddenly his lips were right by Sansa’s ear, his breath warm against Sansa’s already flushed cheeks. 

“Don’t tell anyone, or they might revoke my panel invitation, but...I agree.” 

Sansa seemed to have forgotten how to breathe for a moment, and by the time she remembered, Sam was mentioning something about the time, and suddenly an apologetic looking Jon was disappearing back into the crowd with his friend, and her siblings were staring at her with raised eyebrows and smug expressions.

“Don’t -” Sansa began, but before she could finish her sentence, Arya was throwing her fist into the air and yelling at a volume that was  _ entirely _ too loud, even for the din of Comic Con.

“Sansa’s going to get  _ lucky _ !”

++++++++++++++++

**Thistle**  
@thistleandweed

Woah, when two of your vastly different interests collide at Comic Con @theredwolf @freefolk

**Galazza**  
@thegreengrace

Is it just me, or would @freefolk not make a great #KingChristopher to @theredwolf's #QueenSansa?

++++++++++++++++

With two flights now under Jon's belt, he was prepared to give his verdict; he did not enjoy flying. It wasn't a terrible experience, and the actual flying bit hadn't been so bad. But it was just so much of an _ordeal_ between security and all of the nonsense at airports. Jon was pretty convinced that there was secretly a portal to hell underneath KLX. By comparison, the airport at White Harbor was much easier to navigate.

When they had planned their trip, Gilly and Sam had decided to stay in King's Landing for an extra week, on top of the couple of extra days Jon had planned to spend with them. The three days after Comic Con had been time enough for Jon to get all of his sightseeing done, but he had never liked the South. The Tarly's had rented a car to visit Oldtown, and show off little Sam to his grandparents and doting uncle, while Jon had flown back to the North, relieved to be returning home. 

The ticket back to White Harbor had been much cheaper, and Val had agreed to drive down and pick him up, rather than shelling out an extravagant amount of money for a direct flight back to Castle Black, but it also afforded Jon an opportunity to take Bran Stark up on the offer he had made at Comic Con, before Jon had disappeared for his panel. Bran had wanted to film a collaboration video with Jon, and despite his lack of talent with video games, and his reluctance to fall into a pit of collaborations - a topic he had elaborated to the point of Val taking away his beer at one point - he had agreed.

Not least because he really hoped to get Sansa Stark's phone number from her younger brother.

Jon hadn't seen Sansa again after that initial meeting, and it would have been a bald-faced lie for him to say he wasn't disappointed by it. He probably should have expected it, since it was Comic Con, and he hadn't gotten Sansa's number. He had indeed, gone back to his hotel room and practically binge watched Sansa's channel. By the time he was finished, Jon was absolutely certain she was one of the most talented people he had ever met, and equally certain he was falling a little bit in love with her. She was humorous and engaging, and actually informative. Jon had never really felt inclined to dress as one of the characters he loved, but after watching Sansa's video with her blacksmith Gendry, on how one could fashion a homemade sword, Jon felt a hankering to try his hand at one of the legendary swords of the Young Dragon.

It wasn't just that she was beautiful, though that had plenty to do with it. She was kind and intelligent as well, and had made Jon laugh and feel comfortable in the distinctly _uncomfortable_ setting of Comic Con. He hadn't even been properly nervous about speaking at a panel, not until he was right upon it, because he was too distracted by thinking about Sansa Stark. He was far too intrigued by her to let their encounter at Comic Con simply be some sort of one-time thing, and he had already been trying to figure out ways to see her again - without being creepy - when the text from an unknown number had chimed on his phone.

Jon wasn't really sure how Bran Stark had gotten his phone number, but he assumed Sam had something to do with it. Jon had been relieved, and even more so when Bran invited Jon to stop by his apartment in White Harbor to shoot a video for his channel. Jon hadn't paused to wonder _how_ Bran knew he was flying into White Harbor, or why he actually wanted him on his channel, before letting his fingers fly across the keyboard to give his response - a vehement _yes_. It hadn't really taken much convincing for Val to agree to come along, since she had already made the arrangements to pick Jon up from the airport. She had been suspicious, naturally, given Jon's disinterest in video games, but she had seemed excited by the prospect. Jon had no doubt that she was going to interrogate him - especially when he tried to casually bring up Sansa, since there was nothing casual about Jon whatsoever - but he could handle his sister's ribbing. 

At the moment though, he was currently engaged in a battle of wills, riding silently along Val in her truck, as they rounded the bend, following the vague directions Bran had provided to his apartment. Jon had barely opened the door to her truck, before she was demanding to know who the girl was. And since Jon _knew_ he would tell her eventually, and she would never let him live it down, and he also _knew_ that it was driving her crazy, Jon had remained mute the entire way, not even giving Val a hint about what had happened at Comic Con, to her endless frustration. But a hint would have been too much for Val. She was a better hunter than even Ghost, and would pry the truth out of him as if it was nothing. Jon wanted to hold out at least a little bit longer.

"Nice place," Val commented, as she pulled her white pickup truck into an empty parking space in front of the apartment. "Not exactly what I'd expect from the biggest gamer on the platform though." Jon shrugged noncommittally. It had been pretty easy to forget just how big of a deal Bran was, when talking to him. Practically everyone on YouTube had seen the kid's rise to prominence within the short span of a year, seemingly out of nowhere. Jon had honestly expected someone a little more like Harry Hardyng, an asshole he had once met at some convention, who had definitely let the fame go to his head.

"The Starks are pretty modest," Jon said simply, and Val quirked an eyebrow.

"The Starks, huh? Not just Bran?" 

Jon kept his face impassive, but cursed himself internally. He _knew_ Val would pick apart the tiniest statement. He wondered if he could get away with being silent at Bran's too. 

The pair of them walked to the front door of the first floor apartment, and Jon reached out his hand to knock, when suddenly the door swung open. Val raised her eyebrows, but Jon just shrugged. In the short time he had known Bran Stark, he was beginning to accept that the younger man was just going to be a few steps ahead of everyone at all times.

"Come on in," Bran invited with a small smile, rolling away from the door. "Make yourselves at home. Can I get you anything to drink?"

Jon politely declined, while Val asked for a water, and he took the time to glance around the apartment. Though it was true what he told Val about the Starks seeming pretty modest, he had to admit, the apartment was far more down to earth than he might have expected. Bran's videos were almost always in the top three trending playlist, and even though he refused multiple sponsorships with the platform itself, he certainly had a legion of fans who made him quite the success story on YouTube. But looking around his apartment, someone never would have guessed it. It also seemed remarkably put together for a twenty year old guy, and Jon found himself thinking about the flat he had shared with Sam, Edd, Pyp and Gren when he had been that age, and how abysmal it had looked. 

Turning his attention back to Bran and Val, he realized they were already deep in conversation about the latest release of some game Jon had heard his sister mention more than once, that he couldn't remember for the life of him. He used to feel bad about it, not paying attention to all the games Val seemed interested in. And then he realized she couldn't even name his favorite film, and had promptly dispelled himself of the notion that to be a good brother, he had to know every detail about Val's life. Jon still wasn't sure he had the whole brother thing down, but he knew Val cared for him as much as he cared for her.

"Well, I was pretty excited to meet Jon at Comic Con," Bran was saying, and Jon's focus was back on the pair. He leaned against his elbows resting on the kitchen island, and looked between Val and Bran with raised eyebrows. "The Free Folk video on the speculation for the nearest Khal movie went up around the same time as mine exploring the fan theories." Jon nodded, remembering that particular video.

"Yeah, and then it turned out that both of our videos were way better than what the writers had come up with," Jon interjected, smirking alongside Bran. Superhero movies had never been his favorite genre, and he was really growing to despise the GrimDark craze that every single one seemed to be adapting nowadays. The market was already oversaturated with heroes and villains and antiheroes, but there were very few bright spots among those, and there seemed to be fewer moments of levity, and even less moments of genuine wit. There was _potential_ in some of the films, but more often than not, whatever potential had been there was left on the cutting room floor. "I loved that theory about parting the Great Grass Sea. It would have added way more poignancy to the moment with the riders." Jon shook his head, all but mourning the lost opportunity. Across the island, Val rolled her eyes dramatically.

With his grey eyes focused on Bran, Jon tucked away a curl that had fallen out of the bun scraped together at the nape of his neck. "Did you want to do some sort of theory video then?" Jon asked, keeping his voice neutral, though he couldn't stop the hopefulness from rising within him. That would certainly be easier than a video game, and it was familiar ground for Jon. It was also a nice intersection of both their fanbases, though Jon wasn't really sure if that was what Bran was looking for or not.

The younger man just smiled and shook his head, while Val smirked next to him. "No, a theory video would take too long to research, and I didn't have enough time to adequately prepare. If you'd like me to come on your channel though, that's a good idea for a video we can do." Jon cursed silently. He had forgotten that these collaboration videos were often a two-way street. He didn't mind hanging around Bran in the slightest. It was just...collaborations. But there was a higher purpose here, and Jon wasn't going to waste it. 

"Alright, so I've accepted you're both going to beat my ass at whatever game we're going to play." Val's smirk widened, and even Bran's eyes seemed to flash with excitement. Jon let out a sigh. He didn't really see what the point of thoroughly trouncing an amateur - if he was being particularly kind to himself - really was. It didn't seem like it would be half as much fun as beating a worthy opponent. 

Jon was opening his mouth to say as much, when he heard the sound of a key turning in the lock, and the door swinging open. Suddenly there were two more familiar voices in the apartment, along with the sound of dogs barking. Jon was rather impressed that he could hear any of it, over the sound of his own heart hammering away in his chest.

"All I'm _saying_ Sansa, is that you should go for it. I mean, just because Harry was a dick -"

"How many times do I have to say I'm done talking about this for the conversation to actually end?"

The girls rounded the corner, and instead of a marching band, Jon's heart all of a sudden resembled something closer to canons going off inside his chest. It was, in fact, Arya and Sansa who had just meandered into Bran's apartment as if they did this every day. Sansa was out of costume now, and looked every bit as lovely as she had at Comic Con, with an overlarge long sleeved shirt draped over a pair of yoga pants that looked divine, her long hair pulled into a ponytail high on her head. Jon's mouth suddenly felt dry, and he _knew_ Bran was smirking at him.

_Several steps ahead of everyone indeed._

"I - Jon!" Sansa suddenly stopped in the doorway of Bran's kitchen, her eyes widening, and mouth opening a little in a way that was absolutely sinful, if Jon let his mind travel there. Which he _wouldn't_. Mostly because he was pretty sure that Val and Bran had some sort of psychic mind-reading ability between the two of them, and he really didn't want to test that out.

"I, Jon?" Arya snickered. "What, that's -" Whatever Arya had been going to say was abruptly cut off by her loud yelp when Sansa reached over and pinched her sister sharply between her fingernails. In the process of spinning to glare at Sansa, the younger Stark caught sight of Jon, and her eyes widened, while her mouth flattened from an indignant sneer into a dangerous smirk. "Oh _hello_ Jon. Fancy seeing you here."

Knowing that Val was carefully observing all of this, Jon pushed himself away from the kitchen island, and shoved his hands deep into his pockets, a nervous tic of his, hiding the twitching of his fingers that would immediately tip his sister off. "H-hey," he responded, trying for effortlessly casual, and failing completely. "Yeah, I flew into White Harbor this morning, and Bran invited me over to film a video for his channel." Chancing a glance at Val, who was staring between Jon and the Stark sisters almost hungrily, he swallowed. "This is my sister, Val. Val, these are Bran's sisters, Arya and Sansa." Jon's voice didn't lift when he said Sansa's name. A heavenly chorus did not descend, he didn't melt into a ridiculous puddle on the ground. He said her name in a perfectly normal voice, with absolutely nothing to indicate that he was already head over heels for her. A perfectly innocuous introduction, nothing at all for Val to pick apart there.

And then Sansa strode forward, holding out her hand for Val to shake. "Hi, it's so nice to meet you. Jon told us a little bit about you."

Val's eyebrows climbed on her forehead. "Oh?" 

Sansa seemed undeterred. "We just met at Comic Con, so he didn't say much, but it was all good things from what we heard." 

Val smirked at Jon, who just groaned. "Is that right?"

Sansa smiled and nodded, setting down the plastic bags that Jon had just noticed. "Arya and I stopped by the Pentoshi place nearby," Sansa informed the room at large. "We got enough food to feed an army, so there should be plenty for everyone. I'm sorry, we didn't realize Bran had invited you over, otherwise we would have taken your orders." Sansa shot Jon an apologetic look, laying out the various cartons of meats and steamed vegetables that made Jon's mouth water just smelling them. 

Before anyone could reassure Sansa that it was perfectly alright, that Jon and Val would eat just about anything set before them, Sansa had turned back to Val, her head tilted ever so slightly, with a curious look in her eye. "Val, if you don't mind me asking, what language is your tattoo in?"

Val glanced down at her collarbone, and then back at Sansa. "This? It's in the Old Tongue."

Sansa's eyes gleamed brightly. "I thought it might be! It's beautiful. I'll admit, I never really think about Old Tongue having characters, but it's such a lovely script."

Val gave her a genuine smile, and Jon found himself smiling as well. "I agree. My sister loved the Old Tongue, so I had her name done in it. You have tattoos too, right? I've seen a couple of your videos." Jon's head suddenly snapped to the side to stare at his sister in shock. "That Visenya costume you made was absolutely wicked."

Sansa beamed just as brightly at Val, and Jon had to swallow, trying to wrap his head around everything that was happening in Bran Stark's kitchen of all places. "I do. Just a couple, mostly to cover some scars, but I've been waffling with the idea of getting another." Jon was just trying to restart his brain after hearing _Sansa_ and _tattoos_ , when she suddenly clapped her hands together, and turned to Bran, determination gleaming in her eye. "So, should we eat first, or play first? It's your channel, Bran."

Jon gulped. "You're playing too?" He blurted out, because Sansa _had_ mentioned that she came on Bran's channel occasionally, hadn't she? 

Her smile was dangerous, closer to a smirk than anything. "Of course we're playing. Well. _You're_ all playing. _I'm_ going to be winning."

Despite Jon's complete and utter lack of knowledge, skill, or interest in the world of video games, his eyebrows jumped, and his mouth started to move, all of their own accord. "Oh really? You sure about that Stark?"

Sansa's eyes seemed to brighten further at the prospect of a challenge. "I'm positive."

"You think you can put your money where your mouth is?"

"I _know_ I can," Sansa boasted. Honestly, Jon had no idea what he was even doing, other than painting himself into a corner he had no hope of escaping. And yet -

"Prove it."

"Fine. How about...if you win I have to..."

"Binge watch all seasons of Fire & Blood in one go," Arya supplied helpfully, leaning against the island, eyes bouncing between the two of them as if they were a particularly interesting tennis match. Jon smirked at her suggestion, and Sansa wrinkled her nose, rolling her eyes.

"Okay, if you win, I'll binge watch your show. But if _I_ win..." she let the sentence linger for a moment, making Jon nervous with every passing second, and begin to seriously regret ever starting this banter with her in the first place, "You have to let me put you in a costume." Jon held back a grimace. It wasn't _too_ bad, but he wasn't really a costume kind of person. Still, if he did lose, which he would, it meant another opportunity to see Sansa.

"Deal," Jon declared, holding out his hand for Sansa to shake, which she did with determination. Bran and Arya just rolled their eyes at them, and moved to grab plates, clearly deciding to eat before engaging in battle, but Val moved closer to Jon, so that she could bend to whisper in his ear, her smirk wide and dangerous and the most terrifying thing Jon had ever seen in his life.

"You are in _so_ much trouble."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> find me on [tumblr](http://joygreys.tumblr.com/)

**Author's Note:**

> comments/kudos are always deeply appreciated <3


End file.
